Peace of Mind
by ArbitraryRenaissance
Summary: A studious and clever Meowstic named Mayra travels the Xernea region. As a travelling judge, she is a representative of the law, of charity, and of an open and peaceful mind. An episodic series: each chapter is self-contained and can be read in any order, unless stated otherwise. Inspired by ScytheRider's Eon Fable (but you don't need to have read it to understand this story).


**o**

_For ScytheRider_

9 Ignus, 2312 AF (09 / 07 / 2312)

(\ /)

As a null-hypothesis, Mayra always assumed that all strangers were angels until proven otherwise.

This wasn't for any pragmatic reason, justified rationally as a psychic-type by her experiences inside of other people's minds. She found, in fact, that on average, people were pretty…average. Yes, some of them leaked virtue, weighing all of their decisions on how they influenced others. But most people, in fact, had equal measures of greed and moral goodness directing their actions. So Mayra was proven otherwise in her null-hypothesis a vast majority of the time.

It wasn't for any legal reasons either, even though the spirit of "angels until proven otherwise" was pretty close to the spirit of "innocent until proven guilty," which was a second principle that Mayra not only held but dedicated herself to. When she was in the courts investigating accusations against individuals, her conviction to find proof of the accused's guilt (and to dismantle any faulty evidence) was what drove her to work fifteen hour work days.

The reason for this null-hypothesis was actually a little selfish. It was because the world became a much more pleasant place when everybody around her defaulted to wonderful people. It helped her stay vibrant and happy even when her job required rigidity and meanness at times. The only cost was a little bit of resentment every time reality proved her fantasy wrong. But that was a small price to pay: after all, whenever she discovered that someone _wasn't_ an angel, she usually found that they were instead something much more interesting.

But sometimes…_sometimes_, she'd have the displeasure of encountering someone who was so far on the other end of the Virtue Spectrum that she felt foolish for ever assuming that there was any good in them in the first place. Usually these characters popped up in the courtrooms, trying to find the most despicable ways to confess to their most despicable crimes.

Not today, though. Today, she encountered one of these lowly scumbags right by the docks—staring right at her as she sat on a bench overlooking the Great Bean Lake.

She glared right back at the wingull. _The_ wingull, the big one in front. Not the poor little birds that squawked patiently behind it. Surely they were angels, just like all the other strangers that haven't been proven otherwise. But there was darkness in _that _one's soul.

Mayra reached in her bag and tore up a few more pieces of garlic flatbread. "If you don't share this time, so help me Arceus, you're going to get the headache of your lifetime," she warned. And with that she threw the bread to the wild wingulls. Immediately the evil one front snagged the two larger pieces while the rest of them fought for the third.

A muscle twitched in Mayra's brain. Gently, she lifted up her right ear, directing a beam of psychic energy at the wingull. Promptly, the wingull lost interest in the bread and started yawping. It spread its wings and lopsidedly flew away as fast as it could before crashing into the nearest window. Mayra felt a wave of guilt pulse through her body as she watched the confused bird try hopelessly to fly its way through the concrete below it, but she tossed the guilt aside with a flick of her ponytail, committing herself to her decision. The law didn't punish wild animals, and the other birds deserved their justice. She had to take things in her own hands. In a few minutes, it would snap out of confusion and find some other birds to bully, having completely forgotten about this encounter.

She tossed some more pieces of bread to the wingulls as the gentle waves swelled their way through the docks of Emerson Valley. Behind her, the urban buzz of street vendors, pedestrians, and customers hummed in her ears. Up ahead was the quiet rocking of the sailboats and trade ships with their masts poking over the horizon. Mayra took a sip of her two-dollar tea from the vendor down the street. The disposable cup was made from a thick, healthy leaf held together with thin wooden pins, and she thought that the purchase was worth the craftsmanship alone.

"Is that flatbread you're feeding them?" an amused voice from behind rang out. Mayra turned her head and spotted a slender Raichu parting from the crowd of pedestrians and staring at her with that big-eared grin that she had grown familiar with over the years.

"Good to see you, Alton," Mayra said, clearing a spot for him to sit beside her. "Have we been assigned the same set of cases again?"

"Looks like it," Alton answered, sitting down. It was only a week ago that she'd last seen him. He was a clever man, quick as lightning. And even though he was married, everything about his personality (with the exception of his faithfulness) suggested that he was a bachelor. He was a conversationalist, which made him both a good interrogator and a good friend. They had been in Pikesfoot City last month to serve on the judicial council for a bundle of five challenging court cases. Once the last case had wrapped up, the two of them celebrated by going to the bar and playing drunkard's chess, where whenever someone made a capture they had to take a certain number of drinks corresponding to the value of the piece taken. Since Mayra had a talent for managing to get drunk off of thimbles of beer, she was proven the lesser player.

He took a couple of whiffs, then glared at her as if she'd just ripped her last paycheck in half. "_Garlic_ flatbread?"

"Would you like some?" Mayra asked.

"I—" Alton paused for a second. "Actually, now that you mention it, I am a bit hungry. But what are you doing feeding it to the birds?"

"You've never fed the birds before?" Mayra asked, handing him a large piece of bread.

"I have, with _normal_ bread," Alton said as he grabbed it and took a bite. "_This_ is people food."

Mayra tossed the wingulls another piece. "I noticed they seem to like it more than normal bread. I could imagine why: that's all everyone else ever feeds them. I'm just trying to introduce some variety to their lives."

"Well, that's very kind of you, but…." He paused, staring at Mayra's shrewd grin, then let out a defeated sigh. "Actually, nevermind. This isn't an argument I'm going to win." He took another bite out of his garlic bread and tossed a small piece to the wingull in back. "So, when did you get here?"

"Just last night," said Mayra. "I checked in to the Northbrandy Inn and went right to sleep."

"Ah, well that explains why I haven't seen you all week. What kept you in Pikesfoot for so long?"

"Nothing. I simply decided to walk here is all."

"Oh, right, I forgot you like doing that," Alton said. "How are your calves feeling?"

"Like I've inherited them from a steel-type." The other travelling judges found it a bit weird that Mayra was so fond of taking the scenic route from city to city by foot, which was several times slower than flying. But she found it a relaxing change of pace, and a good way to burn time between cases. The streets had their own fascinations and gatherings of interesting people. She was a friendly face to a hundred different villages, and consequently, a thousand different villager's faces were friendly to her. "You should join me some time."

Alton laughed. "Thanks, but unlike you, I actually like having a couple of days of downtime. You know our next case starts today, right?"

"I'm aware," Mayra said.

"And you're aware that our briefing is in two hours, right?"

"I'm aware."

"And you're aware that we're almost certainly going to be handling this year's biggest judicial case, right?"

Mayra blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Aha!" Alton rose to his feet. "Y'see, _this_ is why you shouldn't waste all your free time on the road. You never know what rumors might be lurking in the shadows."

Mayra emptied her tea and gave her full attention to Alton. The wingulls, realizing that there wasn't any more bread coming their way, hopped away.

"Two words," Alton said: "_Diamond Swellow._"

"The Diamond—_no_," Mayra said. The Diamond Swellow was an antique marble bust of the Swellow companion of the city's founder, Lord Jacob Emerson. She'd never seen the bust in person before, but she knew of its pricelessness. Its eyes were made from massive diamonds, each carved to perfection over two years by the most brilliant jewelers of the time. It sported a beak of pure gold, with ancient purpleheart wood embellishments along the back, and donned a half dozen other ornaments that made the object just as much a work of bombastic luxury as it was a work of art.

It had been stolen last month. The Emerson family still existed after seven hundred years of lineage, and the Diamond Swellow remained in their possession ever since it was crafted. Mayra didn't know how old the antique itself was, but it existed for long enough to gather some major significance to its name. How it got stolen remained a mystery to everyone: they'd all figured that something so valuable would have to have been the most carefully guarded item in the entire city. Which it was. It was perhaps one of the most unstealable objects in the world—certainly the entire city. Nobody could have even _touched_ it, at least not without getting caught in the act.

So it was no surprise to Mayra that the thief got caught in the act. She wasn't expecting to be assigned to the thief, but there was weight to Alton's speculation. It didn't even cross Mayra's mind that the time frames lined up perfectly: if the thief had gotten caught within a few days of the burglary, then they would be facing judicial proceedings at around now. "Who told you this rumor?" she asked.

"Our third travelling judge," Alton answered. "A Lilligant named Kelly. New blood: this'll be her first case."

Mayra winced. "She must be nervous."

Alton chuckled. "Can't really do much about that. _I'm_ nervous too."

"I'm sure it'll be an easy case," Mayra said, feigning calm. "What's important is that we not let its notoriety get to our heads."

"Hold that thought," Alton said, freezing for a moment before craning his head to face her. "Yeah, you know what? You're right; it's not _me _that I should be worried about. It's _you._"

"What? Why?"

"You are going to become so obsessed with this case," Alton said forebodingly, rolling his eyes. "I can already see myself pulling you away from the law books at half past midnight."

"Your worries aren't needed," she objected. "Isn't it curious how my supposed obsession for these cases doesn't seem to hinder my ability to make good judicial decisions?"

Alton chuckled. "Yes, 'I'm making good judicial decisions!' you say as you lock yourself in the library for three days straight and forget to eat."

Mayra's face flattened. "Are you suggesting that I don't know how to take care of myself?"

Alton replied with a shrug. "I'm speaking from experience. We've had…" he paused, counting, "_seven_ cases together now, including this one. And for every one of those cases, I only ever saw you in the library, or in City Hall for Discovery and Deliberation. The only conclusion I can come up with is that whenever these cases are happening, you become an asocial workaholic. Does that sound right?"

Mayra thought she had a response, but she found then and there that her brain couldn't form any meaningful words. She discreetly tore out another piece of flatbread and handed it to Alton.

(\ /)

Alton's two-word comment stuck with Mayra. They clung to her mind as they walked down the busy streets that wound around the grid of domed buildings, each one painted a bright fruity color.

Was she really _asocial _when she was working? Perhaps it was a fair observation: she didn't engage with others as often as she usually did when she had free time. But shouldn't it be the same for them? Travelling judges were expected to spend more time on their cases than local judges, since they weren't as familiar with the relevant municipal laws. And local judges already had hefty work schedules. Mayra would like to be able to spend more time with others when she had legal disputes to analyze, but she simply didn't have time to give.

The _workaholic_ part of the insult was fine. Mayra was perfectly aware that of the travelling judges, _she_ was probably one of the most studious and hardworking out of all of them. Apparently working ninety hours during active weeks was a little bit on the high side: most of her coworkers worked closer to around sixty or seventy. But she didn't pack on extra hours for the sake of working more and making herself look better. She had a responsibility to the accused to be as rigorous and thorough as possible, which meant wasting no time that could otherwise be spent analyzing evidence or consulting the law books.

Besides, she enjoyed the work. She enjoyed trying to determine everything important that happened in these civil disputes, and then finding out exactly what to do. It was like trying to solve a big jigsaw puzzle, except it was a two-thousand piece puzzle with a million different pieces in the box, and you had to figure out what the finished puzzle looked like as you were putting it together. It was challenging and tiring work, but there was something so satisfying about figuring it out.

But still…asocial? Was that what everyone implied from her work ethic? That it made her a library hermit who didn't want anything to do with anyone until she finished her work and did her job? She liked to think that she was actually something of a social butterfree. She met several new people every week and got to know them quite well most of the time. It was just that those were on the off-days, when she didn't have a case to work on.

Maybe there was something she was missing out on. Maybe she could afford to sacrifice a few hours of work in exchange for a few hours of downtime with the other travelling judges.

She kept these thoughts to herself along the way instead of talking to Alton about them. She knew about the virtues of open communication, but she didn't think it wise to advertise this dimwitted and feral insecurity of hers to someone she respected so much. So instead she tried to tuck them away, tentatively deciding that the comment was probably a hyperbole, and ought not to be taken seriously.

She spotted the courthouse up ahead, a clear architectural deviation from the rest of the city structures. All of the residential houses were hemispherical domes, with their roofs painted the color that corresponded with whatever type the owner was. Even the multi-storey tenement buildings and facilities, including the storefronts and local kitchens, respected the architecture by taking the form of rotundas and tacking on a dome as their rooftops.

However, the courthouse was a rectangle in a field of circles. A wide stairway led to a flat line of stone columns that fanned in front of the massive porch, shielding the two largest doors in the entire city from the elements. They were at least thirty feet tall, and wide enough for a dozen people to pass through at once. Two statues of Cobalion, the regional symbol of justice, stood on either side of them.

The inside was carpeted and groomed, with skylights opening up on the high ceiling letting in the rays of the sun. There weren't any others in the main lobby, which made lonely echoes of their footsteps. The only decorations were a pair of palm trees in the periphery, one to the left and the other to the right, and a grand fountain in the center.

The two of them made their way to the antechamber that preceded the Chamber of Judgment, where the convicts got interviewed by the eighteen judges. She was met with company when she stepped into the antechamber. Sixteen individuals were standing around a long, polished mahogany table with eighteen seats. The old bookshelves against the wall introduced a papery smell to the room, and a pair of orange lights hung from the ceiling. It was a large room, but nonetheless felt stuffy and warm with eighteen bodies present.

Mayra remembered a few of the faces from the last time she was here: there were the Kecleon siblings, Luke and Paula, and there was Remus the Typhlosion talking with a female Servine whose name Mayra had forgotten. She also spotted two other psychic-types: Chris the Kadabra and Galen the Drowzee.

There was supposed to be a third. In order to minimize the monopolization of psychic evidence, regional law dictated that every judicial council required at least three psychic-types. Mayra qualified as a third in this case, but she was a travelling judge. Without three local psychics, this council would always need to rely on travellers to fill in the final seat. If Mayra recalled correctly, Fairhall did not allow this for any longer than two months.

(It used to be required that each judge be of a different primary type, so that all eighteen types were represented in the cabal. It was believed that the diversity of perspective would lead to fairer trials. However, there were too many scandals where the single psychic type on the council was caught fabricating false psychic evidence that none of the other judges could validate, and so the regulations were altered.)

This made things a little more frustrating for her. Since psionic responsibilities were usually divided four ways rather than three, she'd have to do even more legwork in order to gather the psychic evidence needed for the trial. Mayra reminded herself of Alton's concerns about her working too hard and grimaced.

Galen was the first judge to meet her eyes. Most Drowzees were naturally plump, but Galen's stomach was especially round, almost wider in diameter than the creature was tall. He had sharp eyes that twinkled in the light, and wore a sophisticated brown bowler, which complemented the fur that went from his waist down. Once he spotted her, he lifted his arms and spoke, "Ah, the remaining travelling judges have arrived at last. Please, everyone, let us take our seats. The sooner we begin this, the sooner we can speak with the accused."

Mayra shuffled to her place by the end of the table reserved for the travelling judges. She spotted Kelly, the Lilligant who would be making her debut as a travelling judge, and gave her an encouraging smile.

Galen took his seat at the other end, at the head of the table—the spot reserved for the high judge. "You've been promoted?" Mayra asked.

"Yes, I have," Galen answered, adjusting in his seat. He sounded both happy and exhausted by that fact. "Valerie retired a few months ago, leaving me to take over for her."

"Well, congratulations on your new position," Mayra said with a polite smile.

"Thank you very much. It truly has been an honor so far. Speaking of which, Mayra, I have an honor to give to you. It was with great relief that I learned that you would be on the council with us. I can always trust you to give fair and well-researched judgments."

Mayra was genuinely taken aback. "Really? But…no, that's nonsense. I make so many mistakes and oversights. You'd see that clear as day if you paid attention to my records."

"Oh, come now Mayra, surely you've heard this before from other judges," Galen said in a gentle, elderly tone. "You are the pride of the travellers. Your records show swathes the most clean and thorough judicial analyses that the Xernea region has ever seen. With you on the council, I can rest easily knowing that we'll have a fair trial."

"Be careful Galen," Alton warned. "If you give her any more praise, she's going to stay up all week working on the case in an effort to prove herself worthy of it."

"Oh, hush, I will not," Mayra snarked. _Maybe just a few all-nighters_, she added to herself as an afterthought.

It was true that she'd been applauded for her thoroughness in the past, and she was always happy that her work was recognized. But such praise was always from underlings and colleagues similar in reputation and experience to her. She was a complete adolescent compared to most of the judges, having only been working professionally in law for about eight years now. She hadn't expected to hear such a gracious compliment from someone as experienced and reputable as Galen the Drowzee.

Before Mayra could come up with a proper thank-you, Galen produced a leather pouch from under the table. "This was going to be delivered to you privately, Mayra, but I thought it would make things more special if I did it here." He slid the pouch across the table and it stopped cleanly in front of her. "That's a gift from the Department of Justice in Fairhall," Galen went on. "You have been recognized for your outstanding performance. Congratulations."

Mayra opened the pouch, and the judges around her murmured excitedly at what she pulled out. Inside was a gold necklace with an emerald cabochon in the center—a color scheme that matched the brooch on her ear that lit up whenever she used her psychic powers. She made out an abstract design of the Cobalion of Justice adorning the gemstone.

The design had a unique branding on her memory. Most depictions of Cobalion were a little bit different from what was shown on this necklace. Typically, blue colors reflected the true features of the creature, and the maw was usually positioned lower, so that it looked like the symbol was looking down upon whoever looked back at it. But this design, with its emerald green base and upturned central angle, it was _personal._ It had deep sentimental value to her. When she was just entering college, this was the symbol she had used to symbolize her newfound dedication to justice and the law. She'd made it herself, and introduced it to the student justice board—which then adopted it into its primary emblem. She could scarcely believe it: this necklace had to have been made specifically for her. "This is gorgeous," she said breathlessly.

"You don't need to wear it," Galen said, "but it would be an honor to all of Emerson Valley if you did. The Department of Justice truly thanks you for your dedication and commitment to the law."

The judges all applauded her, and she put the necklace on before she could make any embarrassing squeals of excitement. The cabochon sat gently on the tuft of her neck, glittering atop the dark blue downy fur. Between this new necklace, the honor surrounding it, and all the applause directed at her, she felt like she was queen of the entire Xernea region. Alton, who was sitting next to her, patted her on the back and said, "Congratulations, Mayra. You definitely earned this."

Once more, Mayra was about to stutter out her thanks, but Galen spoke up first. "Alright, let's get down to business. Travelling judges, I'm sure you've had suspicions regarding the case we've been assigned. If they pertain to the theft of the Swellow, then pat yourselves on the back: you are be right. Our criminal is a Gengar named Zeno. Earlier last month—on the thirteenth of Volantis—he was taken into custody for grand theft of the Diamond Swellow, a crime which he is believed to have committed four days prior to his arrest. Since then, he has also been charged with breaking and entering into the Emerson abode, four separate cases of battery against the stationed guards, and vandalism. In a few minutes, we will enter the Chamber of Judgment and meet Zeno for questioning. In the meantime, please review your case document, containing all of the details we have gathered so far."

Galen summoned a stack of papers that was sitting beside him and passed a packet to each of the judges. When Mayra got hers she immediately opened it up and leafed through it.

There was surprisingly little information about Zeno. He didn't have a record in the city census and neither did any of his relatives. He had no logged occupation or home address, and there wasn't a dollar to his name associated with him. He was a ghost-type both in form and in his relationship with the law.

There were a few important details, though. His relatives did have names listed: he had a brother named Rex (whose location was unknown), an ex-wife named Marionette (also unknown), and a mother and father named Jillian (deceased) and Nemo (who has been in prison for the past four years). There was also a brief synopsis of his confession on the next page. He admitted to using his ghostly powers to pass through the walls of the Emerson family building and steal the Diamond Swellow. He did this under cover of darkness, hexing the guards into unconsciousness with his poltergeist magic. As more guards approached, he broke a window on the opposite side of the building to distract them and managed to escape the city with the stolen item before passing it to his brother.

The oversight he'd made was in assuming that for some reason, it would be safe to stay near the city. His brother was wise enough to run away himself, but Zeno instead he let himself get tracked down after the robbery. The police were waiting for him at his outpost four days later. For someone who had seemingly committed such an expertly crafted crime, this seemed like a silly oversight.

Once everyone had finished reading through the documents, they rose to their feet and proceeded into the Chamber of Judgment. The room was tall and circular, with thick walls and a steep drop to a pit below that was lit by torches and mirrors. It was here where the accused would present himself. There were eighteen seats around the balcony. One seat was lit up from above, and Galen swiftly took it and removed his hat.

Mayra found a seat beside Chris, the Kadabra. Together with Galen, the three of them would take turns reading the accused's mind in pairs. It was far too exhausting for a psychic to keep a central stream of psionic focus for the duration of these interviews, which could last up to several hours, so it was necessary to have a method for taking breaks and signalling those breaks between the psychic-types. Mayra preferred to sit next to the psychics she worked with, initially because she found solace in having another person of the same type beside her, but nowadays it was more because she was afraid she'd forget to reactivate her mind and would need a physical gesture from her coworker to remind her.

Once all of the others were seated (or rather, once Galen had assumed so: it was impossible to see anyone except him in the light) he signalled the guard below to bring the prisoner in. There was a brief, professional silence when the guard left the pit. That silence was soon broken when Zeno stepped forward from the cavity below, cackling as his footsteps jingled the ghost-proof chains that bounded him.

Catching the psionic energy of Mayra's mind, the emerald brooch on her ear began to glow. She took a moment to peek into his mind, curious about what this laughter was about. It turned out that he was simply nervous, and that laughing was a form of catharsis to him. He was forcing it out to try and keep his wits about himself, to keep himself from appearing weak or fragile in front of the judges.

Zeno stopped in the center of the pit below, and his laughter faded. His mouth closed when he looked up at the high judge. All Gengars she'd met had had trademark toothy smiles, practically as their resting faces. But when Zeno pressed his lips together, it was like the shadows inside of his fur swallowed his mouth up, and he was left as nothing but a set of eyes and ears plastered to a pudgy body.

"Gengar Zeno," Galen bellowed. "We gather on this occasion to affirm your guilt in the crime which you have been accused of committing. Eyewitnesses reported seeing you breaking and entering the household of the Emerson family on the night that their most valuable possession—the Diamond Swellow—was stolen. Four of the stationed guards in the household were injured that night. As such, you have been accused predominantly of grand robbery, but also of breaking and entering, battery, and vandalism. Do you, Gengar Zeno, confess—"

"—Yes, yes, I confess to it all," Zeno said irately. "You already _got_ a confession out of me like, three weeks ago, remember?"

"We needed you to also confess in front of the other judges," Galen said. "In order to verify it to them directly."

"Ah, well, I'm glad to hear that the bureaucracy here is operating at peak efficiency," Zeno grumbled. "Am I going to need to repeat myself again for the judges sitting behind me?" He turned around and said, "I reconfess! I confess to confessing! Everything that I said is not a lie."

"We also have eye-witness reports—" Galen started.

"—Yep, they aren't lying either," Zeno added. "Can't believe they saw me. I scouted the area so many times to be sure that there weren't any witnesses. Could you tell me who found me out?"

"No, we can't," Galen said plainly. "Gengar Zeno, what was your motivation for committing this crime?"

Zeno was quiet for a second. "Is this…is this something I actually have to explain?"

"You have the right to remain silent, but the court advises you to cooperate," Galen explained.

"Money," Zeno said slowly. "I could sell that thing on the black market for enough to make my children's children live in luxury."

"How did you expect to be able to use all that money without having authorities grow suspicious of it?" Galen asked.

"By _laundering it._ I would have started a phony business and passed the money through that. Are you guys seriously this ignorant when it comes to crime? You're supposed to know about this."

"We're not ignorant, but some of the criminals we've dealt with are," Galen explained.

Zeno barked out a laugh. "Well, sorry if I disappointed you."

Mayra saw Galen furrow his brow. "You said that you gave the Swellow to your brother, Rex. Does he still have it? Where is he now?"

Zeno looked like he was starting to grow bored. "Don't know and don't know," he said with his eyes half-closed.

"So you don't know where the Diamond Swellow is?"

"Of course not," Zeno said. "That's why I gave it to my brother in the first place. We agreed that he would go somewhere with it that I didn't know about. He'd sell the thing as fast as he could, and then use some of the money to get me out of here if things went south."

"What exactly were you expecting? Him to bail you out?" Galen asked.

"Yeah, pretty much," Zeno said. "Turns out if the thing you steal is expensive enough, it actually costs _less _than the stolen item to bail the thief out."

Mayra had to suppress a laugh. _You poor soul, you have been so horribly misinformed._ Yes, bail would likely be cheaper than the cost of the Diamond Swallow, but bail was something Zeno would have to pay _on top_ of damage costs, not instead of them.

Galen gracefully informed him about this oversight, and Zeno's cocksure posture stiffened up a bit. "Oh," he said. "Right. Well, uh…I'm sure things'll work out."

Galen sighed. "You're planning to escape prison if and when you're sent there."

Zeno twiddled his thumbs. "Uh, well…I wouldn't say I'm _planning_ it, but I'm an optimist."

Mayra picked up some images in Zeno's mind. He was having a brief memory where he had been detained with ghost-proof shackles—much like the ones he was wearing now—and tugged along the road on his way to a small-town jail, before his brother showed up, knocked out the guards, and freed him. He must've been hoping that his brother would help him break out of prison.

"Zeno….Where do you think the Swellow is?" Galen asked, his voice starting to stir with urgency.

"I already said, I don't know."

"Well, use that brain of yours and give us your best guess."

Zeno folded his arms and scowled at him. "No. I don't care how long you lock me up for. That Swellow is ours now, and all the money that we get from it is ours too."

"Zeno, if you're guilty, we're not just going to give you a prison sentence," Galen said.

_What? Yes we will,_ Mayra thought. _Being guilty of robbery leads to life imprisonment at worst._

"Uh, yes you will?" Zeno said tentatively. "I've read the laws: robbery doesn't lead to capital punishment."

"It _does_ for the Diamond Swellow," Galen growled. "That item is a city relic, and it's protected much more stringently under local law. If the Diamond Swellow doesn't return to us, you will be sentenced to death."

Mayra's eyes grew wide.

She didn't take death sentences lightly. Life imprisonment could lead to appeals several months or years down the road if there was a mistake. But death couldn't be undone: she had to be as certain as she could ever be once she gave her final judgment.

As far as Mayra was concerned, Zeno was somehow, by some miracle, innocent. And it was going to stay that way until judgment day came.

Zeno was wide-eyed as well, and his thoughts became panicked, wordless feral noise. He kept his mouth closed.

"Now that you know," Galen said, with a lower and more menacing voice that Mayra found a little bit unnecessary, "I sincerely hope that you'll try and make yourself helpful to us, and answer our questions as fully and honestly as you can."

(\ /)

Unfortunately for Zeno, he wasn't able to give any useful information about the whereabouts of the Swellow. He suspected that his brother had gone north to Pikesfoot City, which had a highly functional black market operating within its walls. The city, of course, had already been notified of the robbery several weeks in advance. They were already doing everything they could to keep a watchful eye on things, and the authorities failed to uplift any evidence that the artifact went through the city so far. In all likelihood, it wasn't there, at least not yet.

The rest of the questioning process went by over the hours, and the rest of the judges combed through just about every important detail that Zeno was able to provide—where he was living prior to the robbery, which window he broke, which wall he phased through in order to get into the house, what was going through his mind at particular instances of the robbery, how he knocked the guards unconscious, and so on.

As she made her way to the library for some premeditated legal research, Mayra began to wonder how Zeno could have possibly been framed for this crime. Usually clean confessions that passed the lie detector tests were enough evidence to convict someone. If Zeno hadn't stolen the Swellow himself, then it meant he had vivid memories of planning and executing this crime without those memories being true—which meant that if he was innocent, then a psychic-type was definitely involved.

There were three main methods of tampering with people's memories through psychic interference. One was hypnosis. A psychic hypnotizes their victim by inducing a dream-like state onto them. While under hypnosis, the victim would be unaware of what they were doing, and would have no memory of anything that they did once they'd snapped out of it. Since Zeno did have memories of the crime, though, it was obvious that hypnosis wasn't a factor here.

The second way was brainwashing. A psychic-type could have melted Zeno's mind so that it was malleable, and then moulded it to their will, making Zeno believe all of the things he was accused of doing. Mayra had dealt with cases where a stunt like this was pulled: the brainwashing was usually done crudely, leaving traces of the psionic hammerwork in the victim's mind by introducing odd inconsistencies in their beliefs, or leaving incomplete memories that reeked of artificiality.

Zeno had several memories associated with his crime, many of which were incredibly menial, like passing by the mansion months prior and making note of the layout of the streets. Zeno had also been forced to explore those memories further when he was questioned: this was something that usually snapped victims out of their brainwashed state. So either the brainwasher was unbelievably thorough with his session and made sure that they covered every single base, or he wasn't brainwashed. She deemed this option possible, but unlikely.

The third way was both the simplest and the most likely alternative in Mayra's eyes, and that was with plain old memory injection. This method was offensively direct: whereas hypnosis used the dream state to work and brainwashing effectively numbened the brain for it to be moulded, memory injection took advantage of nothing more than the belief forming process. Mayra likened this method to rhetoric or persuasive speaking, but in psionic form and taken to the extreme. The psychic would plant the seeds of memories into their mind, and then procedurally convince them more and more that those memories were true.

There were many advantages to this method. One was that Zeno didn't need to be in a separate state of mind for it to work. Normal Zeno would still be convinced that he was guilty, even if there were mountains of evidence stacked against him. Another advantage was that Zeno's mind would have filled in all of the blank details and corrected the inconsistencies that would have been introduced with brainwashing: if the heart believed something strongly enough, then older memories would bend to the heart's will to keep them from contradicting that belief. And a third advantage was that this method could not be psionically traced. Psychics only had access to the mind, and the mind maintained its full convictions and stayed completely operational when memories were injected.

The other evidence available would help Mayra determine whether or not either of these methods were used. If Zeno's beliefs contradicted what other witnesses had seen in any way, then there would be a case to be made for his innocence.

She opened her folder and looked over the witness list. There were only two that weren't guards or the Gengar himself: a female Sylveon and a male Luxray who lived near the Emerson mansion. The file said that the two of them were on the roof of their house when the robbery occurred and saw what had happened after they heard the glass break.

The library was only a block away now, but Mayra decided that legal validation would have to wait for a later hour. She had an investigation to begin.

(\ /)

The sky was starting to glow orange when Mayra approached the Sylveon's door. The house was painted almost entirely in pink, with a yellow halo along the top that marked the border of a wooden balcony that wrapped all the way around the upper part of the dome.

Mayra knocked. There was a slow trot from within the house before the door opened a crack and a creamy white face with great blue eyes stared back at her. "Can I help you?" she asked nervously.

"Are you Lydia?" Mayra asked with a low voice and a timid smile.

"Yes," Lydia answered.

"My name is Mayra. I've been assigned as a judge for a criminal act that you witnessed, and I was just wondering if I could ask you a few questions."

Lydia backed away from the door and with a stutter, she said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I mean no offense, but I really don't want to be questioned by a psychic-type."

"You have nothing to worry about from me," Mayra insisted. "I will only peek into your mind if you let me, and my earpiece here will glow when I do, so you can be sure that I'm not lying."

Lydia's ears lowered and she looked to the ground. Her face grew long and flustered, as if she were about to break out into tears. Mayra's heart welled. She nearly caved, and told her that she would investigate elsewhere. But Lydia looked back up and nodded. "Okay, I know this is important. But—as long as you promise not to look into my head."

"You have my word that I will not read your mind without your explicit consent." Mayra offered a kind smile as Lydia opened the door to let her in. "Besides, I'm bound by law not to disclose anything you say to me, even if it indicates mild illegal activity on your end."

The inside was tidy, as if she were expecting company. A shag orange carpet rested atop the hardwood floor, soft as animal fur. The kitchen in the back was sparkly white and clean, and the small dining table beside the front window was equipped with clean plates and glasses, ready for whatever future meal would make its home there. A staircase wound up along the right side of the house, overlooking four thick, heavy pillows which surrounded a low coffee table. A small bookshelf stood next to a coat rack beside the door which held two cotton scarves rather than coats.

"May I sit down?" Mayra asked, gesturing towards one of the pillows on the floor.

Lydia gave a brisk nod and sheepishly made her way to the far pillow, so that she was facing the door as she sat down. "How long do you think this will take?"

"I don't know," Mayra said, sitting herself down. "As long as it needs to take, or until you decide to kick me out, whichever comes first. Is your housemate here as well?"

"You mean Felix?"

"Yes, the Luxray that was with you that night."

Lydia shook her head. "He's at a gig right now. He won't be back until midnight."

"That's okay," Mayra said. "I'd like to speak to him alone tomorrow, if that's okay with him."

"Oh, you shouldn't bother. We were right next to each other when it happened."

"Well, there are some things you may have seen that he didn't, and vice versa," Mayra explained. "It's also better to have two witnesses instead of one in case either of you misremember something."

"Misremember?"

Mayra nodded. "That's right. Memories are soft and malleable, and little details can easily change in your head without you realizing."

"My memory of what happened is very clear," Lydia said pointedly. "It was a bit too alarming for me to forget it."

"Really? Very well, let's see." Mayra opened up her folder and flipped over to the details of the crime. "The Gengar who confessed to the crime said that he had the bag with the Swellow slung over his left shoulder when he ran away. He passed lie detection when he said that. Do you remember the bag being over his left shoulder as well?"

Lydia paused for a moment, then said, "Yes, that's right. He had the bag over his left side."

"Really?" Mayra asked. "Because that was a lie: the Gengar actually said that he had it over his _right _shoulder."

Lydia furrowed her brow, but said nothing.

Mayra brought out a blank booklet of paper for note taking, and said, "See what I mean? Your memory isn't as stable as you think. If you misremember something, then we can check that against other witnesses. For now, we'll just gather all the details that you can remember. To begin with, what were you and Felix doing on the roof that night?"

Her question was met with silence. Lydia stayed perfectly still, a pink blush blossoming behind her fur.

"Ah," Mayra said with a grin. "Enjoying your youth together, I take it."

"I know we shouldn't have been doing it outside," she sputtered. "He talked me into it, I told him it was a bad idea—"

"—Calm your heart, you sweet little thing," Mayra said gently. "Making love on the roof of your home is just about the most innocent thing you could possibly be embarrassed about. Trust me, I've seen much worse things from very respectable people's minds."

Lydia nodded and quietly said, "I know."

"If that's the only thing that's troubling you about me reading your memories, then I hope you'll reconsider. It will make things much easier for both of us, and you have my word that I will not tell anyone about what you two were doing. Only details relevant to the crime will be documented in my report."

Lydia hesitantly curled in one of her paws. She thought for a moment, then said, "No. I'm sorry. I don't want anyone to see that."

Mayra sighed. "I understand. We'll do this the same way the non-psychics do it, then. I'll ask a thousand questions, and you answer what you can. I won't use any of my powers on you most of the time, but if something you say contradicts the information I already have, then I may ask you to answer again under lie detection. I still won't see any of your memories, but I will have to use my powers."

"I think I'm okay with that," Lydia said. "Start whenever you're ready."

The questions filled up the next two hours. 'Which way did Zeno turn before you lost sight of him?' 'What facial details did you recognize on him from where you were standing?' 'Did he make any other noise as he was running away?' 'What side of the street was he on?' 'Did he say or shout anything?' 'Did you two know each other before that night?' 'Did he ever turn to face you when he was running away?' 'Did anyone try following him?' 'Does _this_ drawing match what he looked like?'

And so on, until the last gleams of sunlight fled from the windows and Lydia had to get up and brighten the lamps. Never did Lydia say anything that deliberately contradicted Zeno's story, save for a couple of small inconsistencies that Lydia was quick to admitting uncertainty towards, so she never had to use her mind-reading against her. When the last detail was finally extracted, Mayra rubbed her weary eyes and rose to her feet.

"Thank you so much for your cooperation," Mayra said as she gathered her belongings back into her purse.

"You're welcome," the Sylveon answered. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to answer everything."

"You've been a great help," Mayra insisted. "And it was very generous of you to do this unscheduled. I can assure you that that's not standard procedure: I just wanted to get a head-start. Expect to be asked to come to City Hall in the forthcoming days to schedule a couple of interviewing sessions with the remaining judges."

Lydia let out a sigh and headed into the kitchen to fill a kettle with water. "This has been a tiring past few weeks. Is it treasonous to say that part of me wished I never came forth as a witness?"

Mayra answered with a friendly giggle. "I'm sorry it's been troubling you so much. The law is messy sometimes. May I stop by tomorrow some time in the late morning so that I can speak with Felix? After that, I can be out of your life forever."

"I think so."

"Wonderful. I'll see you then. And remember not to talk to him about how you answered the questions I asked. We don't want you accidentally interfering with his testimony."

They said their goodbyes and Mayra took her leave. Outside, the streetlamps hovered over the sidewalks like tiny orange suns, and floor lights brightened up the walls of the Emerson family mansion. Perhaps it was simply because she felt she still had energy to burn, but she decided to explore around it. Perhaps she'd find some clues.

Lydia's answers had offered no immediate evidence in Zeno's favor. The interview was very typical: there weren't too many inconsistencies or any indications that what Lydia had seen was different from what Zeno had confessed to doing. And she had forgotten a few things, but that was to be expected. In fact, it would have been suspicious if she _hadn't_ forgotten a few things.

The only thing that made her raise her eyebrows was her unwillingness to let Mayra peer into her mind. Having sex—that was always the excuse that the guilty ones gave to avoid interrogation. They all figured that it was innocent enough to not raise suspicion, but embarrassing enough to be justified.

Of course, it _was_ both of these, but it did make things a bit more challenging for her. It opened up the possibility of Lydia being somehow complicit in the robbery, or the possibility of her own memories being compromised. If a psychic-type had messed with Zeno's mind, then they could have documented all the details and brainwashed Lydia into believing that she'd seen those details herself.

She should have pushed harder. She shouldn't have been so nice Lydia was _going _to budge; Mayra could tell. Just a little bit more coaxing and comforting and convincing and she would have handed over her memories. It would have been a cakewalk if she'd done that, and yet Mayra gave up and let her win after only a few heartbeats. This was a _death penalty_ case she was dealing with, for goodness' sake! She couldn't afford to make these novice, goodie-two-shoes mistakes on the very first day of the investigation. How was she going to prove that she was worthy of the necklace she was wearing if _this_ was how she was going to conduct her investigation?

Mayra let go of her necklace and sucked in a yawn, suddenly feeling much more tired. She wouldn't make the same mistake when she spoke with Felix. She was going to be _much_ more persuasive with him.

"I had a feeling I'd find you here."

Mayra gasped in fright and whirled around toward the voice, lifting her ears instinctively to listen psionically. But when she saw that it was just Alton, looking slightly shocked, she quickly recomposed herself.

"Uh—sorry about that," Alton said. "I probably should have picked a better way to let you know I was here."

Mayra summoned the grace to blush. "A simple, 'Hello' or 'Hey Mayra, thanks again for the garlic bread' would have been more appropriate."

"I'll keep that in mind next time. Oh, and thanks again for the garlic bread."

Mayra walked up beside the Raichu and said, "So, you've hunted me down a second time today. You're lucky our friendship allows me to not be disturbed by that. What are you here for this time?"

Alton paused for a second, a word trapped in his throat. "Well," he said, "I actually came here to do some preparatory scouting of the area: get a better idea of the lay of the crime scene before doing any real sleuthing, y'know?"

"Mmhmm," Mayra said tiredly.

"But, since you're here, there was something I wanted to talk to you about."

"What is it?"

"And since you're _here_, I want to talk to you about it that much more."

"What _is_ it?" Mayra repeated.

Alton glanced sideways at her, his half-smile shifting to the other side. "Are you going to be okay?" he said. "Y'know, I'm a lot more worried about you now than I was before."

"Oh, yes, of course," Mayra said, exasperated. "I'm glad you're keeping a watchful eye on the asocial workaholic. We don't want her collapsing with her face buried in a lawbook."

"Aw, Mayra, you know I only I only said that because I care about you," Alton said. And behind his usual demeanor of joviality, Mayra heard something truly sincere in those words.

Mayra sighed at her colleague's charm. "You're sweet, Alton. But please don't worry on my behalf. I can take care of myself."

"Can you?" Alton asked. "There's some evidence against you here. Shall we run through Discovery?"

"Alton, come on—"

"Piece of evidence number one," Alton started. "I can name three instances in the past where you overworked yourself to the point of it being _visibly_ clear—not just to me, but to all the other judges as well. Piece of evidence number two—" He flashed two fingers. "You have been recognized by the Big House for your contribution to the law, and you're probably going to push yourself in this case to prove yourself worthy of that recognition. Piece of evidence number three: this specific case is not only the biggest crime Xernea has seen all year, but it's _also_ a death penalty case. And we both know how you get with those."

Mayra fought back the urge to roll her eyes. "Alright, you make a solid case," she said. "But—"

"—Piece of evidence number _four_…." Alton wore a small smile for this one. "You're not in bed right now."

"Okay, now you're just being patronizing. It's not that late," Mayra argued.

"And piece of evidence number five," Alton said, crossing his arms. "You don't even know what time it is."

Mayra furrowed her brow. "Sunset was only an hour or two ago, I thought…" she murmured as she fished in her purse for her watch. When she pulled it out, it read a quarter past midnight.

She rubbed her eyes and looked at it again. Still a quarter past midnight.

"I…." Mayra looked up at Alton, who was wearing his 'I told you so' smirk. "Was that really a five hour interview? Or did I arrive for it later than I thought…?"

"Make me a promise please, Mayra," Alton said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "A small promise, just to ease my worried heart, alright? Keep an eye on the time these next couple of days. Make sure you get to sleep before midnight. You're a psychic: you need your rest more than we do."

Mayra sighed, putting her watch away. "I suppose I'm better at losing track of time than I thought," she admitted. "Very well, Alton. You have my word. I'll be more attentive."

As if practicing for the future, she looked back at her watch three times on the way back to the inn, as if she were expecting it to jump forward another hour on her. Of course, it never did. She fell asleep an hour past midnight, now with more than one reason to feel anxious for the next week.

(\ /)

The week was long. Despite her self-awareness, she still found herself working on the case during every waking hour. She'd skipped several breakfasts and lunches and found windows of time where she could attempt to multitask between travelling and working. There was so much she had to do: gather witness testimonies, examine all the records from the Emerson estate, analyze the forensic reports, study the evidence that was left at the scene of the crime, and so on.

Mayra had to admit begrudgingly that Alton's warning proved helpful. She found the hours slipping past her during the investigation, probably due to how focused she was on the case. If she hadn't been conscious of that, she probably would have lost a lot of sleep. The nights quickly approached her every day, and before she knew it she was in City Hall for Discovery.

"On top of the evidence presented by the other judges, I have gathered a couple more remarks and testimonies." Mayra looked down at the highlighted parts of her outline. "Felix, the Luxray witness, allowed me to access his memory of the crime. I analyzed his own unique observations, and there are no outstanding deviations from the picture we have gathered. He spotted a Gengar that fits Zeno's build phasing through the Emerson Mansion on the night of the robbery, and saw him running down the street before crouching below the balcony and urging his girlfriend Lydia to get out of sight."

"Mayra, I'm sorry to interrupt," Chris interrupted, "but how in the blazes did you persuade Felix to let you into his mind? He was very protective of his memories when I approached him."

"I think it was just because I was there first," Mayra explained. "It was clear to me that I was the first person to read his mind that intimately, and I think he regretted letting me do that. He cut the interview short after I stepped out of his memories, and immediately told me to get out of his house." _I understand regretting that choice, but did he have to get so angry?_ she thought irately. _Their lovemaking was the most adorable thing I'd ever seen._

"I also travelled to Pikesfoot City to speak with Nemo, Zeno's father," Mayra continued. "He believes his son is innocent. According to him, Zeno used to be a thug when he was younger, but has since decided to try bettering his life and ending the family's long history of violence and criminality. The reformed Zeno would never steal the Swellow according to him."

"Did he have any reason to believe this aside from mere wishful thinking?" Galen asked.

"A little. Zeno had spoken to him a few years ago about how he was turning his life around. I spoke privately with Zeno about it yesterday, and he said that he'd meant it at the time, but his brother convinced him to revert back to his old ways."

Chris hummed, rapping his fingertips on the antechamber's mahogany table. "And none of us were able to locate Zeno's brother?"

"Damn me if I didn't try," Remus the Typhlosion said with a snort. "I assessed the logs of every city gate from here to Echoing Heights. I checked their prison censuses for undocumented Gengars as well. This Rex is absolutely untraceable. My guess is he's been out of the region for weeks now."

"Please refrain from sharing your opinions on the case at hand, Remus," Galen said. "Save it for Deliberation."

Remus folded his arms over the table and lowered his eyes bemusedly at Galen.

"I suppose we will simply have to do without Rex's testimony, then," Galen said. "If there are no more questions or concerns, then I declare the conclusion of this case's Discovery. We will meet again in two days for Deliberation—same place and time. Please have your legal analyses complete by then, and I will see you all there."

Mayra left the conference room feeling an odd combination of disheartened and relieved. It was a familiar feeling. She'd felt it before when dealing with a convict who was about to get sentenced to death.

Death penalty cases were rare, and only about a quarter of them actually went through and let the sentence get passed. But Mayra had been a travelling judge for a long enough time to see her fair share of doomed criminals, and there was a distinct paradigm shift whenever she came to accept the fact that they were doomed. On one hand, it meant that a fellow elemental was going to die—a person whose inner workings she had peered into, whom she had come to understand and empathize with, and whom she had initially assumed with great conviction that they were somehow innocent, at least until proven invariably otherwise.

But on the other hand, it meant that she was relieved of the burden of proving otherwise—a task which, if the accused truly was guilty, would have been impossible. All of the stress and concern and fear that came with gathering all of the evidence was now lifted. She had done all that she could in the accused's defense and came to an unambiguous conclusion: the law would handle the rest.

Zeno was definitely guilty. She'd accepted that by the third day of her investigation, before leaving for Pikesfoot. The crime had eight witnesses including Zeno himself, and the conflicts between their testimonies were marginal at worst. The evidence present at the scene of the crime was entirely consistent with the testimonies as well. There was even a hair present that forensic analysts had confirmed belonged to Zeno, and there was pretty good evidence that it hadn't been planted.

Mayra had been banking on the possibility of Zeno being framed through memory injection, but Zeno's memories were too perfect for that to have been the case. Besides, if Zeno had been memory injected, he would have remembered the psychic-type who had done the injecting. The only psychic-types Zeno had interacted with in the past year were Galen, Chris, and Mayra. The only explanation that was consistent with the facts was that Zeno had been there and committed the crime himself.

Alton and Kelly caught up to her on her way out, and Mayra felt a pang of guilt. Alton's eyes had lit up when she showed up to Discovery, but she was late to arrive and he didn't get the opportunity to say anything to her. She should have approached him when the meeting was adjourned, or waited for him, instead of heading right for the door like she did. Maybe her social skills really did deteriorate when she overworked herself.

"You just can't stay away from Pikesfoot City, can you?" Alton asked her.

Mayra shrugged. "The evidence follows the criminals," she said, "and as it turns out, most of them are in Pikesfoot."

"I should have figured that you'd take your investigation out of town," Alton said, his face clad with an armored smile. "I was wondering where you ran off to."

Mayra chuckled. "Why? You never came looking for me _before _I left."

"Um—" Alton swung his head around, as if to make sure that nobody was eavesdropping on them.

"Oh, don't tell me you couldn't find me," Mayra said. "I was in the library most of the time, as I usually am. Kelly managed to track me down just fine." She smiled tersely at the Lilligant. "I hope my advice was helpful, by the way."

"It was," Kelly answered with a bright, quiet trill. "I feel much more relieved now that this whole thing is over."

Alton smirked and said, "I just wanted to make sure you hadn't croaked on us." He jabbed Mayra lightly on her shoulder. "You've been paying attention to your sleep schedule, right?"

Mayra growled defeatedly, rubbing her shoulder. _Could you go one conversation without badgering me about this?_ Nonetheless, she sighed and said, "I have. In fact, I owe you one for bringing it to my attention. The hours kept disappearing on me for some reason."

"Hey, that's what friends are for," Alton said with a flick of his tail. "Listen, I was thinking that the three of us should do something together, once we're done with Deliberation and the case is behind us."

"What did you have in mind?" Kelly asked.

"Well, have you ever tried bowling?"

Kelly gasped. "Yes! I love bowling!"

Alton raised his eyebrows. "Really? I'm impressed. You never struck me as the bowling type."

"Oh? What type did I strike you as?"

"I don't know…the poetry writing type? The drawing type? The gardening type?"

The Lilligant tilted her head with a smirk, revealing more of the red flower atop her head. "Ah, or perhaps the knitting type or the frolicking-in-flowery-meadows type. Do you think I play the piccolo as well?"

"Okay, okay, guilty as charged," Alton conceded. "Look, I'm a simple man: I see a quiet, pretty flower woman and I assume that they do quiet, pretty flower woman things."

"A quiet pretty flower woman?" Kelly said with a giggle. "I look forward to surprising you more as we continue working together."

"Hey, can you really blame me? It's not like you gave me any clues that you liked bowling."

"I didn't give you any clues that I wrote poetry either."

Alton opened his mouth to retort, then shut it, probably realizing that this wasn't an argument he was going to win.

Mayra cracked a smile. The case must have shielded Kelly's truer self. Now that the investigation had concluded, she must have felt more comfortable speaking her mind. Mayra wanted to take her side in this little squabble, but she had to admit herself that she had made the same assumption that Alton did about her interests.

"Kelly, I think Alton's just trying to say that he was pleasantly surprised to hear that you two share a common interest," she interjected. "He probably doesn't meet too many people who enjoy bowling as well, and he didn't expect you to be the one to be one of the select few who did."

"Right, exactly," Alton said, looking relieved. "Thank you, Mayra."

Kelly smirked. "I know, Mayra, I just wanted to tease him a bit." She looked down at Alton. "I'll be expecting an apology from you once I crush your score, though."

Alton folded his arms. "You know what?" he said. "You're on. If you win, I will never assume that a pretty flower woman is bad at bowling ever again in my entire life."

"And if I lose?" Kelly asked.

"Then you need to write me a poem, with my subject of choice. And it has to be good."

Kelly giggled in a way that reminded Mayra of the Lilligant she'd met at the beginning of the investigation. "I have to give you credit, Alton: I like the way you think. You have a deal."

(\ /)

It made sense for Galen to make the time between Discovery and Deliberation only two days. Usually, it was another week until the judicial cabal would meet again. But usually, there would be four or five cases being dealt with at once. This time there was only one.

Still, two days wasn't a lot, and the end of the investigation failed even remotely to translate to the end of her work. In fact, she went _up_ a gear. Mayra used every waking hour to her advantage and found herself unpleasantly cramped for time. Even though this was a reasonably simple case, there was still a lot to be done. She knew with certainty that Zeno was guilty of robbery, but she wasn't certain whether or not the municipal laws were overruled by regional laws or by more recent amendments. Ensuring that a particular enforcement policy was actually valid was just as challenging a task as determining the laws that had been legitimately violated.

Zeno wasn't just accused of robbery either. He was charged with vandalism, breaking and entering, and four separate cases of battery. And while the results of these cases would almost certainly have minimal to no impact on the final verdict—when a death sentence was guaranteed, there wasn't much room for it to be changed—it was still Mayra's responsibility as an interpreter of the law to ensure that she gave these accusations their deserved attention as well.

The day after Discovery, Mayra stepped into the library when it opened at 7:00 a.m. She cycled through the law-books, reading through important passages and decoding the verbose text as the hours ticked by. Her right hand was always gripping her pen, waiting for something noteworthy to be recorded for future reference. By the time she'd traced enough confidence in her own interpretation, she filled four pages of scratchwork, which to anybody else would vaguely have resembled the city invasion plans of a drunken, paranoid Wigglytuff. She was also approaching Alton's curfew, with only an hour until midnight struck.

Her conclusion, perhaps unsurprisingly, was that Zeno was guilty of all accusations, and that according to the law, he was to get the death penalty. She drafted her opinion essay the next day and made her way to Deliberation—early this time, for a change.

The outcome was unsurprising as well. All of the other judges came to Mayra's same conclusion on the accusations made against Zeno. They greeted the Gengar in the Chamber of Judgment and cast their votes. It was unanimous, in favor of death.

And that was that.

"The court has decided," Galen said formally. "Gengar Zeno, we find you guilty of the following crimes: destruction of four hundred dollars' worth of property from the Emerson estate, battery against four guards, breaking and entering, and robbery of the Diamond Swellow. For your crimes, Gengar Zeno, you shall be sentenced to die. Your execution will be scheduled for friday of next week."

From the pit of the chamber, Zeno sagged down, his entire body falling limp. As the guards dragged him away, he kept his eyes closed and his head low. It was a posture that Mayra had seen many times before from prisoners who got sour sentences. Their minds tended to go numb when the words struck them, and they usually had no memory of the hours that followed.

Watching a person crumple down into a wash of resignation and hopelessness was always difficult for Mayra. A part of her felt that by voting against them, she contributed to the misery they felt in that moment. And the rest of her believed that part: she probably did contribute, both by casting her vote and by finding incriminating evidence against them.

She believed this guilt was healthy. It helped her stay attentive to what she was doing to someone else's life. It helped her make sure that her vote was carefully cast, with a lot of reason to push back against her emotional doubts. It was for this reason that she always committed herself to stay for the prisoners' executions. If her heart forbade her from watching them as they died, then perhaps they didn't deserve the sentence she gave. As she watched Zeno disappear through the corridor below, Mayra reminded herself that the next time she'd see him would also be the last.

When the council had been dismissed, Mayra told Alton that she'd meet him at the bowling alley in a few hours, and immediately went back to her room to take a nap. She was unusually tired, even given the circumstances. It was true that her mind had been running at its full capacity since Discovery, but it wasn't anything she wasn't used to. And she'd been compensating with a healthy amount of sleep, she thought.

Maybe she had grown more emotionally attached to this case than she realized. That would happen to her from time to time, thanks to a self-barricading property of the psychic-type mind. It was a frustrating evolutionary tactic that they'd adopted. To keep other mind-readers from accessing one's personal motivations, feelings, and inhibitions, a psychic's brain would sometimes hide these things from the parts of the mind susceptible to psionic probing. So maybe she simply hadn't been conscious of the fact that she'd been so emotionally invested in this case, and that she was using even more mental energy than she thought.

Well, no matter the cause, she was too tired to think about bowling. She traipsed into the Northbrandy Inn and told the innkeep, "Wake me in two hours. I'm in room seven." After receiving a nod of understanding, Mayra entered her room, crawled into her bed, and fell asleep with her face stuffed against her pillow.

(\ /)

"Frolicking through a flowery meadow."

"Oh, _come on_. Now you're just rubbing salt in the wound."

"That's my choice. At least four stanzas, and you must have it finished by tomorrow."

"I didn't agree to you setting a required length and due date. It will be as long as I wish and you will get it when I finish it."

"If I might object," Mayra said to Kelly, "Alton _did_ beat you two to zero. I think he deserves in the very least to make sure you don't skimp out on your obligations."

Kelly sighed. "Very well. I admit it, Alton: you are a better bowler than I. I promise, you will have your poem by tomorrow. Although that last game was ridiculous."

"What can I say?" Alton asked with a cheeky smile. "I just awakened my inner animal."

"I was beating you until you got four strikes in a row at the end."

"You should have just gotten four strikes in a row as well. Then you would have won."

Mayra followed the galumphing Raichu to the ball rack and put away her bowling ball, shaking her sore wrist. In both games played, Mayra had scored below a hundred. In both games played, Alton had scored above two hundred. And in both games played, Kelly ended up exactly fifty points shy of Alton.

The three of them settled down at a table in a quieter section of the bar, and Alton and Kelly got in a conversation about their respective bowling histories.

"My university had a bowling club," Alton explained. "I joined it just when bowling was starting to get popular, and I ended up becoming one of the top players in the school."

"Evidently," Kelly murmured. "Do you usually bowl that well?"

"To be honest…no," Alton admitted. "I usually break two hundred in one of every three games that I play. I guess I just got lucky this time. Or maybe I was just more motivated to destroy you."

"Still, that was some impressive play," Kelly said with a kind smile, her sourness for having lost now completely swept away. "I could probably learn a thing or two from you."

"I wouldn't mind playing some more the next time we're together," Mayra said.

"We should have played a round earlier," Kelly said with a sigh. "It would have been a nice way to get our minds off of the case."

Mayra was about to raise an objection, but Alton swiftly stopped her. "Mayra, save your breath. I know what you're going to say: you wouldn't have been able to waste your time bowling with us because you had been bounded by your legal duties."

"Well—" Mayra sputtered for a second. _I'm supposed to be the mind-reader here, Alton, not you!_ she thought loudly to him. "Well, as is it should be. I'm not going to let myself fall sway to the arms of leisure while someone's life is under my scrutiny."

Alton looked expectantly at Kelly, whose eyes grew a bit wider. "You can't be serious, can you?"

Mayra backed away, as if she'd just smelled something foul. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I…nevermind, I'm being silly," Kelly said. "I just thought…well, Alton told me that we kind of have a kinship as travelling judges. Since there are so few of us, we tend to cling to one another and become close friends."

"We do," Mayra said. "I'm on a first-name basis with most of the travelling judges."

"Alton also told me that the reason you've been so reluctant to spend time with us is because you tunnel-vision yourself to your legal duties when you're investigating. I knew that you worked hard, but…well, a part of me was afraid that you just didn't like us."

"No, that's preposterous," Mayra explained. "I love spending time with fellow judges. But my investigations take priority. They should certainly take priority for you, too."

"They do," Alton said, a bit harshly. "Mayra, Kelly and I have been talking a lot throughout this investigation, and I have seen first-hand the amount of work she put into this case. She has been active around the clock. She went above and beyond what was expected of her, and you would applaud her for her efforts if you knew. I know you go above and beyond as well—that's why you're wearing that necklace, after all. But not everyone is capable of working as hard as you."

"No, everyone _is_," Mayra refuted. "Most people just choose not to. And for the most part, I consider that to be perfectly reasonable. But to an extent, I also consider it to be a bit irresponsible."

"Mayra, I want to make something very clear to you," Alton said dryly. He folded his hands and frowned. "I have seen your method first-hand, and I've tried it. Not for a fun little two-week game with no stakes, but for a set of very complicated and very important cases that I needed to nail. By the third day, I was a nervous wreck—the sight of paperwork was making me queasy. I physically _couldn't_ concentrate on my work without getting panic attacks. I forced myself to take a day off and went back to my normal pace." He shook his head. "I don't know how you manage to do it without going insane. It's an Arceus-given gift, I can tell you that much. And I don't know anyone else in the world who has it."

"Wait." Kelly looked blankly at Mayra. "Mayra, did you give yourself _any_ free time? Any at all?"

Mayra thought for a moment. "I probably slept a bit more than you did," she said innocently.

Alton chuckled. "This is what I mean, Mayra. Anybody else would have imploded into an empty shell trying to pull off what you did, but you miraculously seem to manage. Here you are, on the downlow from a straight nine days of exhausting legal work, and yet somehow you're functioning like the normal Mayra should. Something is seriously weird is going on in your mind."

The mental barricade crumbled. The hidden emotions came pouring to the forefront of Mayra's mind, and she suddenly found herself on the verge of tears. _'Normal Mayra'? What does that mean? That I become 'inferior Mayra' when I'm busy doing work? That I become the boring legal bookworm when I have responsibilities to the law?_ "Well, so what if I work a bit harder?" she asked. "So what if my mind takes on a different form when I'm busy? What's wrong with that?"

"What?" Alton asked, looking genuinely surprised. "I never said there's anything wrong—"

"—You've been implying it," Mayra said, folding her arms. "Every conversation we've had this past week, you've condescended me with how I'm always focusing on the case. How I'm an asocial workaholic. How I'm not taking care of myself because I received this necklace in recognition for my dedication. How I'm losing track of time staying up past midnight, and how I need to go to bed when you tell me to. You've been patronizing me constantly, and I'm sick of it."

"Mayra, I—"

"I can't _help _it, Alton. I'd love to be carefree like you when I have a case or four swirling through my mind. I'd love to not miss out on the things that you and Kelly have been doing without me. But I can't. It…it doesn't feel right."

"Mayra, listen to me," Alton said, placing a hand on her arm.

Mayra listened.

"I know what it's like to be torn between two different ways of living," Alton said gently. "Maybe not _your_ two ways of living, but I get it. I have a wife and a daughter in Casper City. And after every case, I go back home and become a husband and a father for a few days. And then I leave for two or three or four more weeks to become a travelling judge again. You would be shocked by how different a person I am when I'm not here with the judges. Heck, _I'm_ shocked sometimes. So, yes, I understand your mindset. And there's nothing that you're doing that you should be ashamed of."

"Then why were you always talking down to me about it?" Mayra asked.

"I wasn't trying to," Alton said defensively. "And you never gave me any indication that it was bothering you up until now." He sighed, and added quietly to himself, "Why do I always end up looking like the bad guy? Okay, look—" He raised his voice again. "I really do worry about you sometimes. I've lived enough of the hours that Arceus has granted me to know that it'll only be a matter of time before they all run out. And I'm already starting to wish that I'd spent more of my time enjoying life rather than working. At this point, I savor every free moment that I have. And sometimes I'm afraid that because you don't do the same, Mayra, you'll end up having a few more regrets by the time you're my age."

Mayra was quiet. She never took the time to wonder at what point it would be that the rest of her life felt too short. Would she regret her choices as a young lady by that point? Would she regret dedicating so much of her time to her duties? Knowing the sorts of mistakes she'd made before she went into law, Mayra couldn't imagine that being the case. But she supposed it was worth considering.

"Although, I'm starting to think that I don't actually need to worry about you," Alton continued. "I don't understand how your mind works, but it seems to be doing its job. I still think that you shouldn't push yourself as much as you usually do, but if you're still sane after eight years of doing things your way, then maybe my mindset just doesn't apply as much to you."

"I'm sorry for snapping at you," Mayra said, her face flushing with guilt. "That wasn't very fair of me."

"Don't sweat it," Alton said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We've gotta be sympathetic if we're going to be good judges."

A thunderous rumble rang out through the alley, followed by a chorus of hearty cheers. Somebody had just gotten a strike.

"I'm glad to hear that you were working so hard," Mayra said to Kelly. "Even though Zeno was found guilty, I think you did him great justice by being so attentive to his case."

"Thank you, Mayra," Kelly said. "You're an inspiration, I hope you know that."

Mayra smiled bashfully. The necklace she was wearing suddenly felt a bit heavier.

(\ /)

There were many ways to characterize Mayra outside of her working hours ("normal Mayra," as Alton apparently liked to put it). A "gentle soul" was one way—the kind of person who fed garlic flatbread to wild birds because she thought they might want a break from boring bread crumbs. Or perhaps a "good samaritan" or a "charitable individual," or any other sort of complimentary turn of phrase that indicated that she was both kindhearted and extraverted.

But these were daytime characteristics. At night, Mayra was one thing above all else: a flirt.

"You look like someone who could use a girlfriend," she said to an Excadrill who'd been sitting quietly on a barstool ever since she'd walked in.

The Excadrill chuckled and took a drink from his pint. "Well, you're to the point, aren't you?" He shook his head. "Actually, I've already got a girlfriend."

"Ah, of course you do," Mayra said with a nod. "Well—you look like someone who could use two."

The Excadrill folded a scowl at her.

Mayra smiled innocently. "You clearly have the heart of an honorable man. Don't worry, I was only teasing you."

She patted the Excadrill on the back and left him alone, looking around for someone else to talk to.

Being a travelling judge, Mayra never spent a long time in any particular city. She usually only had a few days before her next assignment was given to her from the High Court. And with the little time she had in the city, she liked to make it worthwhile—for her, and for at least one other person.

She sat down across from a tall, slender Charmeleon and leaned forward, staring at him as if he were her prey. He was well-toned, with the bar lights tracing shadows between the muscles in his arms and the contours around his jaw. His snout was short and pointed, and his eyes were rounded, emitting a soft twinkle beside his pupils.

The Charmeleon smiled back at her. "Are you with the band? The singer gave you a dirty look when you stepped in."

"The band?" Mayra looked behind the Charmeleon and spotted at the far end of the bar a group of four musicians playing—the singer in front being a familiar looking Luxray. "Oh," she said slowly. "No, I'm not with the band. But Felix and I do have a short history."

The Charmeleon chuckled and said, "What sort of history?"

"Work related," Mayra said pointedly. "The type I'm not allowed to talk about with strangers."

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "You're not a prostitute, are you?"

Mayra held a hand to her mouth and laughed uncontrollably for a couple of breaths. "You couldn't be more wrong," she said as she calmed herself back down. "I'm a travelling judge."

"_Oh_. Well, that explains why I haven't seen you around here before. I won't press the topic any further. I'm in law enforcement too, so I know there's not much more you can say." He extended a hand. "My name's Carmen."

Mayra shook it. "Nice to meet you, Carmen. I'm Mayra."

(\ /)

She woke up in his bedroom the next morning. The tired buzz of her mind slowly sped up as the sleep escaped her. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, her necklace still draped around her neck, and the late morning light shining through half-open curtains.

Carmen was already up and about, heat treating his scales and blunting his claws in the bathroom. Having heard her stirring and yawning, he poked his head out and asked, "How'd you sleep?"

"Soundly," Mayra said with delight. "You're as good a snuggler as you are a lovemaker."

"Aw, I'm flattered," Carmen said, stepping out of the bathroom. "I think."

"You are," Mayra assured. Her hips and thighs, which had pleasurably ached when she'd fallen asleep, now felt warm and light, along with the rest of her body. Carmen had held her tightly while they slept. His scales were warm and smooth to the touch. All throughout the night, his inner fire was a beacon of comfort.

Carmen walked around the bed and nuzzled her cheek. "I'd love to make you some breakfast, but thanks to you, I overslept a bit," he said. "I have to get going soon."

"You know, I never actually asked what your job is," Mayra said to him. "You said you worked in law enforcement. Are you an officer?"

"Prison guard," he corrected.

Mayra reached for her hair tie. "Oh, sounds like an exciting job."

"Actually, not really," Carmen said. "I work on the upper floors, where the petty criminals are held. Most of them are pretty tame, since they know they're gonna be out soon."

"Well, have your friends down in high-security send their regards to Zeno the Gengar, alright?"

Carmen stopped for a moment, and blinked at her. "How do you know Zeno?"

"I was a judge for his case," Mayra explained. "His investigation recently wrapped up."

"What? No, no, that can't be right," Carmen said. "Zeno's being held on _my_ floor. He was charged with petty theft. Travelling judges investigate _felony _charges, don't they?"

"We must be talking about different Zenos, then. My Zeno was sentenced to death. His execution is scheduled for today."

"My Zeno's _release_ is scheduled for today," Carmen said. He shook his head. "Okay, this is probably a crazy coincidence, but I need to be sure. Do you have a picture of your guy?"

"Well…as a matter of fact, I do," Mayra said. She stretched and got out of bed, reaching for her bag. After opening it and leafing through her notes on the case, she found a sketch of Zeno, with his ruffled patches and dully colored fur.

Carmen took the sketch and looked closely at it. His brow furrowed, conviction plastered to his face. "This is him," he said. "This is exactly the same Gengar that I'm thinking about."

"_How?_" Mayra said accusationally. "Zeno should be in a high security jail cell, somewhere underground. He should be completely aware of the fact that he's going to die today. I've _seen_ into his mind. I've _seen_ the things he's done."

"Clearly you didn't see everything," Carmen mumbled thoughtfully. "What did his jail cell look like in his mind?"

"I don't know. I don't get those details unless he's thinking about them while I'm reading his mind. You're positive that's him?"

"Either him or a twin copy of him," Carmen said. "Do you think one of them is a Zoroark?"

"My Zeno couldn't be," Mayra immediately said dismissively. "His memories are completely consistent with him being a Gengar. No mental block could have hidden his identity, and no physical illusions could have protected him for this long." She furrowed her brow and mindlessly flipped through the rest of her notes. Absentmindedly, she found herself stepping back into investigation mode, laying out all of the possibilities in her mind and weighing them based on how likely they were.

The most likely explanation she could immediately think of was that Carmen was lying to her. That was easy enough to verify.

"Carmen, may I read your mind as you recall the last encounter you had with Zeno?" she asked.

Carmen hesitated and hummed, setting the picture aside. "I guess this could be important," he said. "Sure, you may."

Mayra took a deep breath and summoned her psionic hearing. When she listened to his mind, the first thing she heard was actually quite endearing: he was coaxing himself with silent words of trust. It probably wasn't something he was consciously doing, but there were little voices in his head telling him that he could trust her, and that he was agreeing to let her read him because she was a good person.

Then his mind shifted to his memories. With his eyes closed, Carmen summoned the last time he saw Zeno. It was only yesterday. They were inside of the prison. It was evening, probably only a few hours before he'd gone to the bar and met her. Carmen was locking up the bars to a prisoner's cell, preparing the floor for the night shift guards.

"Hey, Carmen," the prisoner on the other side said.

Carmen's eyes met Zeno's. The edges of the fire on his tail tickled the reds of his sclera. There was warmth in those eyes. There was warmth in his smile. Mayra found it jarringly uncharacteristic of the Zeno she'd interviewed and investigated.

"This is going to sound horribly cheesy of me," Zeno continued, "but I wanted to thank you for everything you've done. People like you are rare where I come from, and I'm gonna miss you when I'm out of here."

Carmen smiled and nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow, Zeno," he said before the memory dropped away.

(Carmen subconsciously revealed one other thing to Mayra, likely by accident: he wasn't exactly telling the truth when he told her that he had to leave for work soon. He didn't have an active shift today, but he wanted to show up anyway to see Zeno when he left.)

That was all that Carmen bothered to recall. He started reflecting on his memories of Zeno at that point: _Was it all a lie? Was Zeno tricking me somehow?_ Mayra politely stepped out of his mind opened her eyes. "This could be a problem," she said as she rose to her feet and started pacing.

"So, what's going on?" Carmen asked. "That was the same Zeno, right?"

"Yes, it was," Mayra said. "So _you're_ not lying to me. Maybe _he's_ lying to _you_. Do you only have it on his authority that he's there for petty theft?"

"He wouldn't be _held_ there if he was facing charges of grand theft, Mayra," Carmen said, now sounding thoroughly nervous. "And if he was acting, he was doing an incredible job. The psychics he was in prison with never reported anything flaky in his mind either."

"This is very strange," Mayra said hesitantly. "One Zeno, but…two identities."

"Sounds kinda like a complicated hypnosis," Carmen suggested.

"That's what I was thinking too," Mayra said. "But hypnosis is one of the most psychically identifiable states of consciousness in the world. If Zeno were under hypnosis, we'd know."

Carmen frowned, putting a claw to his chin. "I…_think_ I remember reading about a form of hypnosis that wasn't traceable back in high school."

"That sounds unlikely," Mayra said hesitantly. "If something like that existed, I think I'd know about it."

"Well, what other possibility is there?" Carmen asked. "Suppose there _is_ an untraceable hypnosis. That's the perfect way that someone could cover their tracks if they wanted to puppet someone into doing a crime for them."

Mayra wanted to respond, but she realized how much sense that made before she could. All of the analysis that she did to rule out traditional psychic manipulations failed to take into account this possibility. In fact, her analysis _couldn't_ take into account this possibility, since the entire point of it was its lack of traceability.

"It's still unlikely," Mayra mused. "If this were happening, the courts would catch on, wouldn't they? They have Zeno's records, and his records say that he's been arrested for grand robbery. Why aren't they up in arms over the fact that he's not being held in maximum security?"

Carmen pondered for a long moment. The twinkles in his eyes twitched a couple of times. "Well, there's no explanation for that at all," he finally said with a shake of his head. "I can't think of any way to explain that fact away."

"Quite…. This is what we in the investigation industry call 'a challenging case'," Mayra said. "At this point, I think we need to ask ourselves, what's more likely?: That we are mistaken, or that the courts are."

"Neither seem possible," Carmen said, frustration caking his voice. "Wait—" His eyes stared blankly for a moment. "Actually, maybe. The connection between prisoner management and the judicial court is thin. And I mean that literally: when prisoners are brought to court, they're escorted there through a narrow underground hallway that takes them there. Both felons and petty criminals walk down it. And the escorts usually aren't the same people as the prison guards stationed over in the can. So, I suppose it's possible—I mean, I still don't know _how_ this would ever happen—but if the records that _we _have on Zeno are different from the records that the _courts _have on Zeno…."

"So, we're suggesting that somebody might have hypnotized Zeno with a form of hypnosis that I've never heard of before and tuned this hypnosis _perfectly_, so that Zeno was under it whenever and _only_ whenever he was in the presence of the judges. This person was also familiar with the way the courts are run and with the location and formatting of the city's criminal records, and was therefore able to fabricate a set of false records for Zeno, all so that the prison guards such as yourself wouldn't get alarmed."

Carmen rubbed the back of his head. "It's not the…most elegant way to pull off a crime, I guess, but this isn't as improbable as it might seem. There are psychic-type prison guards in our facility. It could be one of them."

Mayra hummed thoughtfully. "Well, great, now I have reasonable doubt," she murmured. "I need to go to the library," she said, gathering her things. After throwing her purse over her shoulder, she looked Carmen square in the eyes and added, "If there's a hypnosis spell that could be doing this, I'll find it, and I'll see if I can reopen Zeno's investigation. You go to the jail and keep an eye on Zeno. I don't want him getting killed until I figure out what's going on."

(\ /)

Dreamcatching.

It fit the description perfectly. It was an esoteric form of hypnosis, completely untraceable, and capable of lasting indefinitely with the right materials at play.

It was one of the earlier and lesser known innovations of Hyacinth—a genius Espeon psychology professor from the late 22nd century. The psychology community managed to keep this form of hypnosis out of public knowledge, likely aware themselves of the nefarious things that it could be used for. It was a complicated technique too, one that required mastery in the psychic arts. It was certainly not something the common psychic-type hooligan could pull off. Mayra was trained in psychic manipulation techniques herself, but the methods required to pull off a successful dreamcatching hypnosis were well above even her capabilities.

The original form of dreamcatching had it so that the individual under hypnosis would remember their actions after they snapped out of it. But some clever bastard figured out a variation that triggered a bidirectional memory lapse. While under this version of the hypnosis, a person in the dreamcaught state would have no memory of what they did while they weren't in the dreamcaught state. But when they snapped out of the hypnosis, they would lose all memory of their dreamcaught actions. They could go their entire lives completely unaware that they were ever under its effects.

She wasn't surprised that she'd never caught someone using this technique before. For her to have done so, there needed to be a psychic-type who was skilled enough, knowledgeable enough, and motivated enough to use it to commit a crime. Furthermore, she actually needed to catch the hypnosis when it was happening, which was nearly impossible. It was only by incredible luck that she managed to sniff this one out.

Oh, but sniff it out she did. Assuming she was right, all she needed to do to confirm this foul play was to speak with Zeno in his unhypnotized state. Then she could identify psychic-type suspects and proceed from there.

There were three big holes that she needed to work out. First, Zeno was still in the wrong prison cell. Carmen had offered his own possible explanation, but it felt incomplete. How did nobody on either the court side or prison side identify this mishap? At what point between Zeno's arrest and imprisonment did his documents get doctored? Did the offender hypnotize more than one person in the process of covering their tracks?

Second, dreamcatching required a memento. In order to perform a successful version of the spell for an extended period of time, an object of deep sentimental value needed to be present to catalyze it. This object, when seen, would trigger the hypnosis. When the subject fell out of the hypnotized state, seeing the object again would retrigger it. Mayra had no idea what Zeno's memento could be, or where it was. Wherever it was, it had to be somewhere where it would trigger precisely when he was around the judges.

Third, Zeno's supposedly scheduled release was at exactly the same time of his scheduled execution. Galen almost certainly didn't precommit to a time frame for the investigation. How in the world did the supposed mastermind behind this crime manage to line things up this perfectly? Either they managed to reschedule unhypnotized Zeno's release, or the mastermind made a very lucky guess.

These holes weren't irreconcilable. Possible explanations certainly existed. Which meant that Mayra's original hypothesis—the same one that the court of eighteen judges had agreed upon—was reasonably doubtable. The case had to be reopened.

She spent no longer at the library than she had to, but it still took her over two hours to figure out what she needed to know, and by then Zeno's execution was fast approaching. She had broken into a jog on the way to the town hall and found Alton sitting on the stairs to the main entrance.

"Mayra!" Alton said, perking up at the sight of her. "Staying for the execution too, I see. What are you doing here so early?"

Mayra paused, momentarily forgetting about her task. "I would ask you the same thing, Alton. Are you waiting for someone?"

"Kelly's inside checking out the execution chamber." There was a strong soberness in his tone. "I talked her into attending. I figured it would help her get a feel for her responsibilities and whatnot. I'm just getting a breath of fresh air right now."

_Kelly's here too. That could be useful._ "Alton, listen to me," Mayra said pointedly. "I think Zeno is innocent. I'm going to Galen right now to get his execution cancelled."

"He—…." Alton shook his head and stood up. "_Innocent_? Mayra, are you sure about that?"

"No, but I'm sure _enough_," Mayra said quickly. "I was with one of the prison guards and he told me that Zeno was on _his_ floor—the upper floor. Minimum security. Not where felons go. This wasn't a lie: I looked into his mind and saw Zeno there. I still need to work out the details, but I think he's been dreamcaught: his mind has been split into a hypnotized and a normal state, and we've been dealing with the hypnotized state this whole time. The normal version of Zeno has no idea he's even in jail for this robbery. He doesn't remember ever touching the Swellow. Somebody might have done something to him that points to his innocence, and I need to reopen the investigation to figure out what that something is."

Alton looked like he'd just seen a ghost. "Did you say 'dreamcaught'?" he murmured.

"Yes. It's a special type of hypnosis. Completely untraceable."

Alton sighed nervously. He was silent for several seconds. And perhaps it was the anxiety that was tripping Mayra up, but for a brief moment, she thought she could see a touch of sadness (or…guilt?) swimming through his eyes. Finally, he said, "Okay. You go and talk to Galen, but just in case you can't convince him to reopen the investigation, I want you to write up a reopening request first. Once you do that, give it to me and I can present it to the city council. In the meantime, I'll go and get Kelly and have her do the same thing. Since the three of us are travelling judges, we can appeal against Galen if he refuses. They might still deny us, but it's worth a shot."

Mayra nodded, following Alton into the city hall. "Thank you, Alton."

"Well, you're either lying or this is a very serious situation. And you don't lie." Alton started towards the execution chamber. "Hurry with that request. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Mayra decided to go to the antechamber to write it up. She took her seat at the table and took out a sheet of paper before realizing she'd never actually written up an override request before. All of the cases she'd handled were closed when she finished her investigation. Sighing, she decided to wing it for now and hope that it would be accepted.

'_In order to prohibit the obstruction of Justice, I, Meowstic Mayra, do hereby request that the city council reopen the investigation of the crimes for which the prisoner Gengar Zeno has been accused. Due to the recent surfacing of new evidence related to the case, the soundness of the judicial council's sentencing for the accusation has been brought into question and must be investigated further.'_

And then she signed her name at the bottom. It didn't sound as formal as she'd wanted it to, but she figured it would be good enough.

When she returned to the main lobby, Alton was there with Kelly. She handed him her note, and he read it through quickly. "Yes, this should work," he said. "You know where the high judge's office is, right?"

"Of course," she replied.

"Good. I've also spoken with the executioner and told him to expect a last-minute cancellation, so we should be good to go."

"Thank you for being so hasty with this, you two," Mayra said. "I'm sure it seems impossible for Zeno to be innocent, but I need to be sure. It means a lot for you two to believe me."

"Hey, I'm always happy for an excuse to save a life." He patted Mayra on the shoulder. "Now, you go see Galen and talk some sense into him. We'll be down here waiting for you with our override requests if you need them."

Mayra nodded and headed off. She climbed the stairs to the second floor and went down the wide corridors to Galen's office door. She knocked. A voice inside said, "Come in."

Inside, Galen was sitting at a polished oak desk with purpleheart outlining. No folders or papers were on it. Instead, there were several books and a bowler hat, which was placed to the side. A large bookshelf rested against the back wall, and coffee was sitting in a glass pot beneath a blackboard where names and nouns were connected with dotted and solid lines.

Galen looked surprised to see her. "Mayra?" he asked. "What brings you here?"

"I need you to reopen the investigation," she said.

Galen was silent. He blinked once, precisely, slowly. "The Diamond Swellow case?" he said, cocking his head and raising an eyebrow. "I…suppose I _can_ open it back up, but for whatever reason? I took care to make sure that the investigation was thorough and complete."

"I still think we may have been wrong," Mayra said. "I think Zeno was under psychic influence when he committed the crime."

"Mayra, there were eighteen judges on this case," Galen said. "One of them was you. One of them was _me._ If none of us were able to find evidence of hypnosis, then we have no reason to believe that he was under it."

"Dreamcatching is untraceable," Mayra explained. "I didn't know about it before, but now I do, and I have testimony that suggests that he's been under it since the crime. I might be wrong about this, but I need a more thorough investigation to be sure. Please open it back up."

Galen paused for a moment. He opened his mouth, closed it, then whispered, "Dammit."

And for a fraction of a second, the world went black.

(\ /)

She woke up slowly, with a full ache in her head and a sharp ache in her wrists. She was sitting on a hard, flat wooden chair. The room she was in was dimly lit, and smelled like moldy sawdust. It was also small, like an old closet that had been cleared out.

Or like an interrogation room.

Yes, this room had a lot of components to it that made it seem to mimic an interrogation room. The walls were a dull concrete, the door was big and heavy with a fat metal lock that drew a lot of attention to itself, and the chair opposite to her was a few inches taller than the one she was seated in, so that whoever sat in it would tower over her.

Perhaps what was most reminiscent of an interrogation room, however, was the fact that her wrists and ankles were taped to the chair. She also felt the pressure of a dark aura pin pressing up against her temple, keeping her from doing any psychic attacks.

The door opened and in stepped an overweight Hypno wearing a bowler hat.

Mayra struggled against her bounds in frustration, then sighed after accepting escape wouldn't be possible. "You timed your entrance well," she grumbled.

"You weren't asleep for long," Galen said. "Just for long enough to transition out of the sensory hypnosis spell I put on you."

"Of course it was you," Mayra said begrudgingly. "Nobody else would have been able to mess with Zeno's records and put him in a different prison cell like that."

"Ah, so that's how you figured it out. Yes, I couldn't have had a confused, reformed Gengar complaining to the guards about not understanding why he was in a high-security prison. The guards might have eventually become convinced something was wrong." He cast Mayra a curious glance and took his seat. "I hope you're not too nervous. Rest assured that I'm not going to hurt you. There's no need for that. However, you made things more complicated for me, and now I need to figure out what to do with you."

Mayra _was_ nervous, of course. Her heart was pounding so hard that it was upsetting her stomach, and she could feel the primitive parts of her brain trying to find a way to escape. But the psychic mind was a master at making such emotions difficult to notice among other psychics. This, of course, included staying curiously well-composed. "Since when were you an expert hypnotist?" she asked.

"A long time, actually," Galen said. "I studied hypnosis extensively in school. For six years I pursued the psychological arts before switching over to law. I had an incredible talent for it too. I even outshined my professors." He leaned forward. "So, how much have you figured out?"

"I've pieced together some things," Mayra mused. "Your plan is a good one, I have to admit. You found a shady Gengar with a criminal record and used some basic hypnotic trickery to compel him into stealing the Swellow while also feeding a convincing and believable justification for the robbery in his mind. Maybe you killed his brother after he gave you the Swellow. Maybe you wiped his memories and sent him out of the Xernea region. Either way, you made sure we couldn't find him." She hummed in thought for a second. "The only thing you needed to do was cover your tracks, since hypnosis and memory injection are both traceable. That's where the dreamcatching spell came in: you made sure that Zeno committed the crime under the dreamcatching hypnosis, while casting the other spells on him while he was in his normal state. And then, to ensure that Zeno wouldn't remember you as easily while he was in prison, you probably cast some amnesia on him too."

"It was a doubly linked dreamcatching spell, to be more precise," Galen clarified.

"Yes, I'm aware," Mayra said. "It wouldn't exactly work to have your original Zeno remembering his crimes while in prison, or else he might end up remembering _you_ as well."

"Well… I'm impressed," Galen admitted. You've worked out almost everything."

"Everything important," Mayra said. "I still don't know what the memento is."

"Ah, the memento was my favorite part," Galen answered. "They were his shackles. The ghost-proof chains you saw him wearing actually belonged to him. He wore them a few years ago when his brother saved him from a band of police officers, and he's kept them ever since. He'd stay hypnotized while he wore them, but shortly after taking them off, he'd snap back to his original self. Wasn't that a brilliant plan?"

"I guess it was," Mayra said. "But what a shame that you're stuck with me now. You know you can't kill me. Not when I've just finished a notorious investigation. Not when so many eyes are already on you and your court. And it's far too late for amnesia to work on me: I made these discoveries five hours ago."

"Actually," Galen said calmly, "I've already made preparations for this. See, I knew that if anybody was going to figure out my scheme by pure chance, it was going to be a psychic-type. Right now, the only other psychic-type on the council is Chris, and he was so busy with other cases that he never would have had time to figure this out. So that only left one more threat: you. And given your reputation, I knew that you were serious enough that I couldn't afford to ignore you."

He rose to his feet and approached Mayra. Instinctively, she cringed and looked away. But he hardly touched her. When she heard him taking his steps back, she opened her eyes and saw that he was holding onto her necklace. The cabochon dangled beneath his fist. "Think a little bit more carefully about what this necklace is and why I gave it to you."

Mayra stiffened. Of course—that necklace was more than just a trinket that represented her dedication to the law. It was a deeply meaningful symbol that held sentimental value to her. "That's a memento," she whispered.

"Precisely," Galen said with a nod. "I've had you under a dreamcatching spell ever since the beginning of this investigation. All of your memories, all of your discoveries, all of your clever little observations, I have been prepared to have them all completely erased. All we need to do… is take this little memento away. So, here's what's going to happen tonight. I'm going to take you home and put you to sleep. When you wake up, your necklace will have been cleared of its dreamcatching spell. You'll receive a summons to your next court location, and you'll leave none the wiser, completely unaware that you or Zeno were ever hypnotized."

"It still won't work," Mayra said sternly. "I've already spoken to Alton and Kelly. They both know that Zeno has been hypnotized, and I've already written up a reopening request. The case is going to open back up whether you like it or not."

Galen stopped cold for a moment. For a moment Mayra had thought that she narrowly outplayed him. But then he waved his hand dismissively and said, "No matter. Your reputation as a hyper-analyzer has no scruples against my reputation as a fair and just mediator of the law. The city council _will_ favor my word, especially when this is the most anticipated execution of the past decade. If I have to doctor a few more prison records and lace a few more false beliefs into the minds of some witnesses, then so be it. You think the nebulous testimony of some travelling judges is really going to get in my way?"

A voice suddenly sounded from the other side of the door. "Actually—" the door then opened, "it's funny you say that."

A Hariyama immediately charged in, and Galen scarcely had time to rear his head before he was slammed into the ground. The Hariyama secured a psionic blocker to his head, and attached shackles to his hands and feet. Galen wriggled and writhed, shouting, "How?! How did you find me? How did you know?"

"Call it a trade secret of the travelling judges," Alton said as he made his way into the cramped room. "Or, call it a miscalculation on your part. You shouldn't have underestimated us as much as you did."

Kelly shuffled into the room as well, fearlessly glaring at the now subdued Hypno. "You have made my first case a living nightmare," she said harshly. "I knew there was something deeper going on here. But I never would have expected the catch to come from from someone like you." She faced the Hariyama and said, "Take him away. Anything else he wants to say can go to the judges who oversee his case."

As Hariyama carried Galen away, Kelly and Alton took to unbinding Mayra. They pulled out the dark aura pin and ripped off the tape. The second Mayra was free and standing, Alton took her wrist and pulled her into a tight hug. "Thank goodness you're okay!" he said, all confidence and bravado shed from his demeanor in exchange for relief. He let go and added, "I knew Galen was going to do something, I just knew it. But I needed proof that he was behind this. I'm so sorry, Mayra. I didn't want to put you in danger, but I didn't know what else to do."

Mayra cast a shy stare at Alton, taken aback by his surge of empathy. "Alton, you saved me. You have nothing to apologize for. I'm honestly surprised you figured all this out so quickly. I had no clue."

"Actually… you did." Alton picked up Mayra's necklace, which had fallen to the ground, and studied it like it was a rambunctious kitten.

Mayra raised a brow at him. "What are you talking about? I didn't know any of this until only a few minutes ago."

Alton shook his head. "That's only half-right. The _dreamcaught _Mayra made all these discoveries a few minutes ago, but the non-dreamcaught Mayra realized she was under a spell since the beginning of the investigation. Remember when I came to see you after you finished your interview with that Sylveon who witnessed the crime? That wasn't a happy coincidence. Shortly after you finished your interview, the effects of your hypnosis must have been wearing off. You realized that this was happening, and came to me when you did." He twined the necklace chain around his hand, gripping the Cobalion design in his palm. "By that time, you'd already figured a few things out. You knew that your memory of the past day had left you, and that the necklace you wore seemed to trigger your amnesia. Somehow you managed to avoid looking down at it when you realized the hypnosis was wearing off. But you knew that you wouldn't be able to figure this out on your own: you didn't have enough information when you fell out of the trance and you didn't have any knowledge of what was happening when you were in it. You wanted me to help you figure out what was going on."

"So… I _wasn't_ crazy when you had me check the time that night," Mayra realized. "It wasn't that I lost track of time. I genuinely didn't remember those hours."

"We decided that we should try and keep things secretive," Alton said. "You were afraid that if the entranced you found out about what was going on, then whoever had done the entrancing would have found out and done something to you afterwards. So we made sure that your memory lapses were at timely moments and kept you from catching on. In the meantime, I did some research alongside my investigation into what this whole thing might have been about. It didn't take long for Kelly and me to figure out that you were under a dreamcatching spell, and it didn't take long for _you_ to figure out that it was Galen who was doing the dreamcatching."

"What?" Mayra asked, dumbfounded. "When did this happen? Why wasn't Galen arrested the moment I found this out?"

"Well, you pieced that together a while ago—on the night of Deliberation to be exact. But the problem was that even though we knew he was dreamcatching you, we…" he paused, turned slightly red, and covered his face. "Well, we kinda came to the conclusion that whatever Galen was up to, it probably wasn't something we needed to worry about."

Mayra raised an eyebrow. "I was being _hypnotized_, and your conclusion was that we didn't need to worry?"

"It was _our_ conclusion," Alton said defensively. "We talked about it for a long time, and yes, in retrospect we were pretty stupid, but at the time, we trusted Galen. He earned the title of high judge, did he not? You and I both respected him. We didn't even _think_ that it might have had something to do with the case. We thought it may have been a blind study that he was doing on the effects of dreamcatching or something like that. I only managed to piece everything together when you told me that Zeno had been dreamcaught too."

Shaking her head, Mayra said, "And here I was thinking that we had devised a calculated scheme to take Galen down, when this whole time everything was actually just a series of happy coincidences."

"Hey, at least we figured it out," Alton said. "We saved someone's life today. That's something to be proud of. So let's get out of here and celebrate."

(\ /)

With a sway of his arm, Alton grabbed the white queen and knocked out the black queen with it.

"You can't be serious," Mayra said with a groan.

Alton had already started downing his beer shots. "I just try to play the best moves," he said deviously between drinks. "Are you going to recapture? Nine points, nine shots."

Mayra sighed, stared for a moment at the chessboard, and begrudgingly recaptured the queen before starting her nine. "This is unfair. You know you can hold your own booze better than I can."

"You didn't have to take it, Mayra," Alton said with hardly a slur in his tongue. "Part of the strategy is knowing when to sacrifice."

"Just watch. I'll have have your king yet, _despite_ my handicap."

Eight moves later, Mayra was checkmated. When the booze had set in, she was flush red and struggling to keep herself from swaying. "Want to play again?" Alton asked in a cheeky tone. "We need a tie-breaker."

Mayra shook her head. "We'll just call it a draw."

"Well then…." Alton cleared the board and collected the rest of his untouched shots and poured them all into a mug. He lifted the mug over his head and said, "Here's to you, Mayra. Thanks to you, an innocent man now walks free, and Xernea sees a little bit more justice."

"I wish I could remember what happened," Mayra said wistfully, collecting another shot of beer, chinking it with Alton's mug, and emptying it. "It sounded so exciting."

"Don't feel too bad," Kelly insisted. "You only really missed yourself getting tied up and dragged to an old warehouse closet."

Alton scoffed. "Um, excuse me? What about our heroic rescue where we burst into the scene and took Galen down?" He took a sip. "Yeah, hate to break it to you, Mayra, but you missed a pretty epic climax."

Mayra laughed. "Well, as long as justice gets served, that's what matters to me. I've been counting my blessings. We got seriously lucky."

"It wasn't just luck." Alton patted her on the shoulder. "We couldn't have done it without you."

"Eh…" Mayra started hesitantly. "I'm wondering exactly how much I actually did in the end. I mean, I may not remember any of it, but I still spent days investigating, right? You both told me that I'd been working like mad, and I wouldn't believe you if you told me otherwise. And even though Zeno was innocent, I wasn't able to figure it out without catching a miraculous stroke of luck. If what you told me is true, then if I'd never met that prison guard, then Zeno would be dead and we'd be none the wiser, and all my hard work would have been for nothing." She sighed. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's not worth all the effort that I put in."

Alton tapped his mug thoughtfully. "Well, I won't turn away an acknowledgement of my superior sense of judgment, but our hard work and persistence is all that those poor innocent suspects are relying on most of the time. And yes, in some sense, we got lucky, but it was _your_ cleverness and diligence that let a simple stroke of luck make a difference in the end. Plus, thanks to that stroke of luck, us judges now have one more thing that we'll have to keep an eye on: potential dreamcatchers. We may be able to catch them in the future, but we'll need to up our games. Interview more people, ask more questions, keep an eye out for evidence of trickery…. In other words: be a little bit more like Mayra."

If Mayra hadn't already been blushing from the alcohol, she would have blushed at the comment. "That's one of the sweetest things I remember you saying," she said to him. "But I still feel like this is evidence that I'm working too hard."

"_That's because you are_," Alton said sharply. "Let the other judges take some of your slack. There's a reason we do eighteen investigations for one case: it's to keep any one of us from having to do everything ourselves. You deserve to loosen up a little. Sleep with more of the prison guards and whatnot. Maybe you'll run into some more 'strokes of luck' along the way."

Mayra rolled her eyes at the comment with a shy smile, but she found nothing in its content worth critiquing. It felt like the perfect compromise given the outcome of the case. She had her duties to the law, but at the end of the day she was only one cat—a cat with responsibilities and duties that went beyond the law, with responsibilities and duties that went to herself. And while she did consider herself wise and studious, and more capable than her fellow judges at giving appropriate legal analysis to the people she was intended to serve, she knew now that there was always the looming threat of error. There would always be the omnipresent possibility that there were extra details living in the shadows—details that no amount of hard work and perseverance could ever uncover, but details that made all the difference nonetheless.

A part of her head didn't like this compromise. It was a part of her head had masochistically learned to enjoy those long nights at the library, where she would pass out from exhaustion at the foot of a desk trying to view her cases from all relevant perspectives in the legal framework. And to this part of her head's misfortune, Mayra decided that she would take this compromise to heart. When she left Emerson Valley for her next assignment, she was convicted that she would try and enjoy life a little bit more—even during the days where every hour was a working one. And when she found an opportunity to make herself happy, she would be sure to take it.


End file.
